


The Body

by ButterscotchCandybatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Sherlock stays asexual through the whole fic, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterscotchCandybatch/pseuds/ButterscotchCandybatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock asks for John. Not to get him a pen, or make him tea, just John. He apparently wants John’s body. On the couch. Right now. For a case, of course. Asexual Sherlock. Not-so-asexual John. John’s POV (mostly).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“John! JOHN!”

Sherlock’s voice echoed up the stairs from the living room. John had retreated to his own bedroom with his laptop when Sherlock’s reconstruction of the crime scene had taken over the entire floor, coffee table and sofa. The kitchen was out of the question. That had the permanent set up for experiments and Sherlock’s microscope which probably cost more than all of John’s possessions combined. Sherlock had also threatened him with death if he touched it. So what was the shouting about then? If Sherlock wanted tea after driving John out of his own flat he could bloody well make it himself. Not that he ever did.

“What?” John shouted back. “Get your own bloody pen!”

“No, I need _you_.”

Hmm. That was unusual. Sherlock often needed his laptop, his phone or for him to do something. John could not offhand recall Sherlock ever asking for _him_ before. This was something new.

Cursing his own curiosity, which was not in Sherlock’s league but nevertheless quite considerable, John descended the stairs and poked his head into the living room. It looked rather like a paper replica of a snow storm had taken place and even the walls were covered with sticky notes.

“Case going well?” he asked.

“No.” Sherlock frowned. “I’m missing something.”

“What?”

“A body. The case involves two dead bodies so far, but it only makes sense if there was a third one. That’s what I need you for.”

 _“What?”_ John couldn’t help recalling Sally’s opening comment the first time he ever met her. _One day we’ll standing around a body and it’ll be him that put it there._

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to kill you, I just need your body. There. On the couch. Should be quite comfortable actually. You can bring your laptop or a book if you like. It might take a while.”

John sighed, but he already knew he was going to give in. Didn’t he always do what Sherlock wanted? Impersonating a dead body was just one more item for the blog. His followers would probably think it was funny. They didn’t know the half of the funny stuff Sherlock made him do. He just wouldn’t mention that it might take three or four hours, or five, or eight…

“Hurry up, please,” Sherlock was tapping his foot with impatience, but he had said please. It must be important.

“Righty-o. I’ll just grab my laptop and be right there.” John replied. He darted up to his room and grabbed both his laptop and his current spy novel. Experience had shown him that Sherlock’s _might take a while was_ most people’s _don’t expect to eat or sleep for the next two days._ He ran back down the stairs. “OK, where do you want me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “On the couch, I already said that. I do hate repeating myself.”

“All right, all right, I’m going. Just sitting on the couch be all right for you?” John was picking his way through the papers on the floor trying not to disturb anything important.

“For now,” was Sherlock’s not particularly reassuring reply.

# # # # # # # # # #

After three hours of Sherlock huffing around the room rearranging papers and adding more sticky notes to the wall, John had finished updating his blog, checked his emails, read ten chapters of his book and was ready for a cup of tea.

“I’m going to make a cup of tea, want one?” he asked. No answer from Sherlock, which was typical. John stood up and apparently the rustle of his clothes as he stood was louder than his actual voice, because Sherlock immediately whipped his head around and frowned.

“Where do you think you are going?” Sherlock asked, disapprovingly.

John rolled his eyes. “For a cup of tea, to light the fire as I’m freezing and maybe a piss.” He added sarcastically, “If that’s all right with you.”

“Just tea for me, and don’t step on any of the papers or scuff anything around. I’m at a very delicate stage.”

 _Delicate_ , snorted John to himself. _Princess would be more like it._

Despite it all, he made two cups of tea before returning to the sofa. It was much warmer in the small living room now that the fire was lit, and with the tea warming him from the inside as well, John decided to remove his jumper.

“Yes, good idea,” said Sherlock.

“What?” replied John.

“I’m ready for you to impersonate the naked body. That’s why you were taking your jumper off, wasn’t it?”

“Er, no, actually,” said John. “It’s just getting a bit warm in here…”

“Anyway, I need you to take all the rest of your clothes off now, please.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s stubborn glare. “All right, you can finish your cup of tea first.”

Sherlock stalked into the kitchen as John undressed. John gave thanks for small mercies. He stripped down to his underwear but left his pants on. Sherlock couldn’t expect him to get completely naked for a bloody crime scene reconstruction. He wasn’t easy. He wasn’t gay. The pants were staying _on_.

Sherlock came back from the kitchen waving two jars in his hands. “Strawberry jam or tomato sauce?”

“What?”

“Blood, John! I need to recreate the blood spatters on your body. Do you want me to make them with tomato sauce (probably more lifelike but rather more runny) or strawberry jam, which might be sweeter but stickier to remove?”

“Er…” John’s brain was short circuiting with the idea of Sherlock licking the strawberry jam off his body. “I’ll have the jam, thanks.”

Sherlock shrugged as if it made no difference to him and opened the jam jar. “Lie down on the sofa, John.” He gave a rather sinister smile. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

# # # # # # # # # #

After two hours of lying on the couch with his eyes closed while Sherlock daubed various parts of his body with the jam, John was getting fed up. His original titillation had worn off and now he was just bored.

“Sherlock.”

“Ssshh!”

“Sherlock!”

“I’m thinking, lie still and be quiet.”

“No, I won’t!” John was getting pissed off now. “I’m not going to lie back any longer and think of England. I’ve had enough and I want a shower.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“What?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t deduce what your initial thoughts were when I asked you to lie down naked on the sofa and let me paint your body with jam?” Sherlock still had his eyes closed but he smiled as if he could see John’s blush.

“I thought you were asexual, married to your work and all that?” John blurted.

“Well, yes. I am, but you’re not. I don’t mind. My suggestion was that if you can lie still for one more hour, I would make it worth your while. You invest more time than that in getting those boring women to sleep with you.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“I’m suggesting licking the jam off you, then giving you a hand job either on the sofa or in the shower, whichever you prefer.” Sherlock’s voice was completely calm and even, just as if he were discussing whether John preferred his tea with milk or lemon.

“Sofa.” John managed to choke out, before he closed his eyes again. Thank God he’d left his pants on. At least he could pretend that just the idea of Sherlock’s tongue on him wasn’t giving him a massive hard-on. Or that Sherlock was unaware of it. Denial was a wonderful state.

John drifted in a semi-delirious state of warmth and anticipation. Sherlock was going to…

“Oh!” Sherlock gave his usual orgasmic gasp of realization. “Of course! It was the cousin! John you are so clever, so perfect. Time for your reward, I think…”

Then a warm, wet tongue was being gently applied to his body, cleaning off the jam from his shoulder, his neck, crossing his chest and moving down his belly… Long tapered fingers were dipping into his pants and he was involuntarily lifting his hips. Dammit, were his pants coming off? Yes, yes they definitely were. But oh, it was worth it to feel those long, smooth violinist’s fingers wrapping around his eager cock. Sherlock was jerking him off, and just the thought of it nearly made him come on the spot. He opened his eyes and looked down at where Sherlock’s hand was wrapped around his dick. Oh yes, this was really happening.

“Close your eyes,” Sherlock snapped.

“Why?”

“I just don’t like you looking at me while I’m doing this. I need to concentrate.”

“You have done this before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, of course!”

John sneaked a peek at Sherlock under his eyelids. Was Sherlock blushing?

“Have you ever done this to someone else, I mean?”

“I don’t see why that is relevant. It’s the same motions, just at a different angle.”

“Oh God, stop!” John groaned as Sherlock removed his hand from his leaking prick.

“Why?” Sherlock looked a bit disappointed.

“Because if it’s your first time with someone else, I should make it good for you. I don’t want to just come all over your hand and then go off and have a shower.”

Sherlock shrugged. “That was my plan. I have to call Lestrade anyway, but it can wait until you are… done. I’ve already had my reward – you lay still for me for over five hours.”

“That’s… kind of sick you know. You’re saying that I played a dead body for you and _that’s_ what earned me a hand job from you?”

“Problem?”

John glanced at Sherlock’s trousers which were flat and undisturbed. “I suppose not. Let’s go then.” John lay back on the sofa again.

“Please close your eyes though. It’s weird that you are watching me do this.”

“Why? I like it. Your hand on me is hot.”

“Fine! Just don’t talk to me, it’s distracting.”

The undistracted Sherlock then returned to rubbing his hand up and down John’s erect cock, giving a little twist of his wrist around the head that had John moaning and closing his eyes despite his intention to watch. John was panting now and he could feel his tip getting wet as his balls drew up close to his body. He glanced down again just in time to see Sherlock lick his lips.

“You can kiss me there, if you want to.” John ventured.

“That doesn’t sound very sanitary.” Sherlock returned.

John shrugged. “Up to you. I can come like this. I just saw you licking your lips and thought you might be wondering what I taste like.”

Sherlock tilted his head to one side, as if considering the idea. John closed his eyes again, hoping that might encourage him to… Yes! A warm wet stripe was being licked up the length of his cock and lips were tentatively closing around his tip. He bucked his hips up involuntarily, and heard a noise of protest from Sherlock.

“Sorry!” he gasped. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

Sherlock only hummed in reply, and oh God, the vibrations reverberated from his prick through his entire body. He couldn’t help giving shallow thrusts with his hips, but Sherlock had one hand firmly around the base of his cock now, and was controlling the depth of penetration into his mouth. Sherlock gave a swirl of his tongue around the head and John gasped and groaned.

“Sherlock! I’m going to… Ah!” Then John was climaxing, lightning flashing across behind his closed eyelids as blinding pleasure whited out his mind.

He flopped back on the couch again, his mind pleasantly blank and his body buzzing lightly. Mmm, nice. Except that his stomach felt very wet. He looked down at the mess on his belly.

“Sherlock, did you spit my come out on my stomach?”

“Well, you didn’t expect me to swallow it, did you? It doesn’t taste very nice, and you said you were going to have a shower anyway.” Sherlock was inspecting the mess on his hands, and then rose and went into the kitchen to wash them. “Hurry up, I’m going to call Lestrade and he’ll probably want us to go to the Yard and tell him what I’ve discovered.”

“Which is what?”

“That you like it when I give you head, and you blush charmingly when you come, but that it doesn’t taste very nice.”

“Sherlock!”

“And that one mouthful of ejaculate hardly constitutes a meal. Now that the case is over, I’m a bit hungry. Angelo’s?”

“I impersonate a dead body, then you suck me off, then we go out on a dinner date. Does any of that sound a bit strange to you?”

“No.”

“Then it’s all fine. Let’s do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

“John! JOHN!”

Sherlock’s voice echoed up the stairs from the kitchen.

“What now?” John shouted back. “I’m busy!”

“I need you!”

John sighed and descended the stairs to the kitchen. On the table were two bowls of water, one had a pair of hands in it. Dead hands, not attached to anything. Just floating in the water. Sherlock was standing by the table with an anxious smile which John found highly suspicious.

“What do you need me for?”

“This is a very elegant experiment John. The two bowls of water have been chilled to exactly the temperature of the Thames on the night in question. I want to compare the effects of prolonged immersion on living and deceased hand tissue. It will determine very precisely the time of death.” Sherlock pointed to the chair in front of the second bowl of water. “Sit please.”

John sighed. “How prolonged are we talking about?”

Sherlock smiled, scenting capitulation. “Oh, about three hours should do it, definitely no more than four.”

“Does it have to be both hands? Or can I hold a book or use my laptop with the other?”

“Two hands would be ideal, please John.” Sherlock’s voice took on a wheedling tone.

John folded his arms over his chest. “What will you give me if I do it?”

Sherlock looked puzzled. “Isn’t being part of an elegant scientific experiment which will determine a man’s guilt or innocence enough for you?”

“Nope.” John raised one eyebrow. “If you expect me to sit still with both my hands in freezing cold water for over four hours, I’m going to want some kind of… compensation.”

“Oh, very well. What do you want?” Sherlock was pulling out the kitchen chair and arranging the bowl of water in front of it.

“Um, I’ve got a vibrator upstairs.” John blushed. “Would you be willing to use it on me?”

“Of course, John, that would be just fine. Now, sit here and put both hands in the water please.” Sherlock was rubbing his hands together, clearly thrilled to get his _elegant_ experiment under way.

# # # # # # # # # #

It ended up taking nearly five hours before Sherlock was satisfied and John was released. By then his hands were completely numb as well as looking more like prunes than hands.

“It’s because of the osmotic effects of the water, John.”

“I know that! I’m a doctor, remember? Now I’m going for a warm shower to see if I can stave off frostbite and get some circulation back in my hands.”

“Thank you John, that was very helpful. I’m going to call Lestrade with my findings. This is a bit complicated to text.”

“When I get out of the shower I’m going to my room. Shall I meet you there?”

“Mmmm, yes, fine.” Sherlock was already absorbed in his phone.

# # # # # # # # # #

John waited rather anxiously in his room. This was a bit different from last time. The jam blow job (did that make it a jam job?) had been spontaneous. Or at least, he thought it had. Who ever really knew about Sherlock and what he did or didn’t plan? The man was always at least ten steps ahead of everyone else, and at least eight steps ahead of John.

Ah, fuck it. He had agreed and now John was freshly showered and waiting in his room with a vibrator, lots of lube and was about to have an amazing sexual encounter with the brilliant and gorgeous Sherlock Holmes. He was still not exactly sure what _kind_ of sexual encounter, but considering how well the man did everything he put his mind to, it was sure to be amazing.

He heard Sherlock’s steps on the stairs and tried to look alluring, or at least relaxed and confident. If only he knew where to put his hands…

Sherlock opened the bedroom door and smiled slyly at John. “You don’t need to put on that Look for me, John. I’m not one of your girlfriends. I believe the saying is ‘a sure thing’.” John could hear the air quotes falling around the unusual expression in Sherlock’s mouth.

“Yeah, I dunno. It just didn’t seem very romantic to just hand you the vibrator and lube and say ‘here, go for it’.” John blushed.

Sherlock shrugged. “If you were looking for romance, John, I’m afraid that is the one thing I can’t provide.”

“No, of course not. No, I wasn’t expecting that.” John rigidly controlled his expression of polite neutrality.

“So, hand it over then.” Sherlock was at his most brisk and efficient. “After you come, I need to head down to Bart’s. I’m meeting Lestrade there with the case files to confirm my theory. Lestrade won’t mind if I am ten minutes or so late, but let’s get cracking shall we?”

John could feel his excitement ebbing away. Somehow it all seemed just too clinical. He didn’t think he could get turned on like this, knowing that Sherlock was going through the motions while watching the clock. He sighed. “Never mind. Just go to Bart’s. Don’t keep Lestrade waiting.”

Sherlock brightened up. “You sure?”

John pulled his computer onto his lap. Unfortunately, there was no longer an erection that needed concealment. “No problem. I need to put this case on the blog anyway. Go. Have fun.”

“Excellent. Thank you, John. I owe you and I won’t forget.” Sherlock whirled away down the stairs.

John opened a new post for his blog and sat staring at the empty screen. Sherlock owed him, and he was a man of honour and would redeem his word at some point. That should make John happy. So why didn’t he feel happy?

# # # # # # # # # #

The tea had been drunk, the take-away eaten and the leftovers put back in the fridge, and Sherlock still was not back. He probably would not eat the leftovers, anyway. John did not like to eat food out of their fridge half the time, but he still could not bring himself to throw perfectly good food in the bin. He’d wait until it grew mould and then throw it out.

John settled himself in front of the telly and thought seriously about opening a beer, or perhaps something even stronger. He did not like to drink alone. As a doctor he knew it was a seriously dangerous habit even without a family history of alcoholism, but dammit, he needed something to take the edge off. He thought about opening up some porn on his laptop and having a wank by himself but somehow the thought did not have the appeal it usually did.

He amused himself for a while trying to think of a new password for his computer that Sherlock would be unable to guess. Then he kicked himself for being an idiot. He was thinking of Sherlock while Sherlock was most definitely not thinking of him. Sherlock had run off to the Work, leaving John behind. Sherlock loved the Work. Sherlock was married to the Work and John was… what? A bit on the side? Or worse, a hobby to kill time when Sherlock was bored?

John was _not_ mooning and sighing over a self-proclaimed sociopath who had given him one amazing blow job and then blown him off. It was unreasonable to expect an asexual to be interested in doing anything like that anyway. Even if Sherlock had seemed to find the whole thing intriguing at the time. John sighed.

OK, he _was_ sighing over Sherlock but he did not have to be totally pathetic about it by waiting up or getting drunk over him. No, he would quietly and sensibly go to bed. And he was not going to cry into his pillow or anything so juvenile as that. His sinuses were playing up and making his nose run, that was all.

# # # # # # # # # #

John woke to a warm arm snaking around his waist and cold feet pressing against his. “Sherlock?” he mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Five in the morning. You don’t need to get up yet.” Sherlock replied. “Go back to sleep, John.” He tucked his arm beneath John’s head and curled up close behind him.

John relaxed and closed his eyes and completely failed to go back to sleep. His mind was racing again with questions. Why was Sherlock in his bed? This had never happened before, what did it mean? Was Sherlock going to have sex with him? Or was this a completely platonic climb-into-bed-and-cuddle? Scratch that last question, that was stupid.

“John, stop thinking so loudly, I can’t sleep.” Sherlock complained.

“You hardly ever sleep anyway.” John retorted.

“All the more reason I need to now!”

“So, is the case over, then?” John ventured.

“Yes.” Sherlock sighed with satisfaction. “I took my findings to Lestrade and narrowed down the suspects to two. We arrested both of them, but on further questioning the wife had nothing to do with it. Your contribution was pivotal to solving the case, John.”

“Is that why you are here now?” John asked.

“Yes, but I had not realized that so much time had passed. I thought it was still late at night rather than early morning. So I decided to make myself ready for your reward but to let you sleep until you woke of your own accord.”

“I’m awake now.”

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious. Does that mean you wish to engage in sexual activity?”

John winced. “Sherlock, that’s pretty… blunt.”

“I thought it was rather to the point, actually. Never mind. Let me try again.”

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John full on the mouth. His lips were warm and the pressure was just right. There was no tongue, no mouth opening at all, just firm lips on his own. The kisses then moved along his jaw to his ear and a warm breath huffed wordlessly in his ear.

“Wh-what are you doing?” John stuttered.

“Giving you your reward. That should be obvious, even to your placid mind, John.”

“What happened to ten minutes with the vibrator then off to Bart’s?”

“Those circumstances no longer apply.”

John pulled away from Sherlock’s kisses in order to look properly into his face. “What happened? What has changed? Don’t bullshit me, Sherlock. Something is different.”

Sherlock sighed and flopped over onto his back. “The hand experiment was incredibly useful, and I am aware that you participated at considerable personal inconvenience. I wanted to reward you adequately, yet you did not seem pleased with the reward that you yourself had selected. I decided I needed further information in this area, and we had quite a bit of time waiting at the Yard for the suspects to be brought in.”

“You asked _Lestrade_ for advice about… seducing me?” John was horrified.

“Of course not, John. I just asked him the best way to use a vibrator to reward a sexual partner for a particularly stunning performance. I didn’t mention any names.”

John groaned and hid his face in his pillow. “Oh God, he’ll know you meant me. And you mentioned the vibrator? Christ, how can I ever walk in there again?”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “He did look rather like he’d swallowed a live fish,” he admitted. “But if the damage is done already, don’t you want to see what I’ve learned?”

John was still moaning into the pillow, “Lestrade knows, so the whole of New Scotland Yard knows that you are buggering me with a vibrator. Oh God, how can I ever go back there?”

Sherlock sniffed. “I don’t see why you care so much what people think. They will all think I’m gay now, but you don’t see me moaning about it.”

John gave him a disbelieving look. “You licked jam off me and gave me a blow job, and now you are about to stick a vibrator up my arse and you’re saying you are _not at all gay?_ Surely this is at least a _little_ bit gay?”

Sherlock sighed with equal parts annoyance and resignation. “No, I’m not gay at all. I’m doing those things to you because you asked me to, either directly or indirectly. You already know, or at least strongly suspect, that I’m asexual. It doesn’t give _me_ any sexual pleasure to do these things. I do them because _you_ like them and you did me a favour which I am now returning. Fair’s fair. Speaking of which, are we going to do this or not? I have some other experiments I should be getting on with if you have changed your mind.”

John was still floundering with the influx of new ideas.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, asexuals make up about one per cent of the population. I’m sure you have come across some of us before, though maybe you didn’t know it. I’m not repulsed by sexual activity, I’m not depressed and I’ve never been raped. If that answers all your questions can we _please_ get on with this?”

John laughed suddenly, and leaned over to kiss Sherlock lightly on the lips. “All right then, since you asked me so nicely.”

Sherlock sprang into action. He kissed John’s lips, jaw and neck and worked his way rapidly down to John’s nipples. He kissed both of them quickly and kept moving south. John wondered if he was going to… yes, oh yes, he was. John could not help groaning as Sherlock took him into his mouth and tongued him firmly all over the exposed head of his glans. Just as he was starting to think Sherlock had lost track of what was supposed to be going on, he felt the blunt tip of the vibrator pressing at his entrance. His body instinctively tensed as he realized…

“Sherlock, wait, did you put lube on that?”

“Was I supposed to?”

John recoiled, even as Sherlock reached over to the bedside table for lube. “That could really hurt, you know.”

“Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”

“I’m not even going to ask what you were possibly thinking about that got you distracted in the middle of trying to shove a vibrator up my arse.”

“Lestrade, if you must know.”

_“What!?”_

“I was thinking about some of the advice he gave me about fellatio, to make it more enjoyable in concert with the use of the vibrator. Nothing you need to be jealous about.”

John groaned. “Let’s agree not to talk about Lestrade while we are in bed together. Just humour me on this, OK?”

Sherlock hummed his agreement while resuming his gentle kisses on the crown of John’s cock. “Ready?” At John’s nod he slowly eased the now slicked up vibrator into John. “Relax John, I know what I’m doing. I’ve read up on the anatomy of the area.”

“Uh, really?” John tried not to look surprised.

“Of course. I wouldn’t go into an experiment without reading up on the background material.”

“Mmmm, of course not.” John was losing focus on the conversation as he gave himself over to his body’s reactions. This was probably the closest he would ever get to Sherlock being inside him and he was determined to enjoy it. Sherlock obviously had understood the anatomical texts he had read and knew how to direct the vibrator towards John’s sweet spot. After only a minute or two, he found it and made John buck his hips involuntarily and groan with pleasure.

“Should I switch on the vibrator function now?”

“Oh God, yes.”

Sherlock turned on the vibration, just at the lowest setting, and slid the vibrator in and out of John’s body slowly. Pressing on his prostate each time and sending waves of intense sensation through John’s whole body. John could feel the heat gathering in the centre of his abdomen. It wouldn’t take much more…

Then Sherlock leaned down and rubbed the rough side of his tongue all over the head of John’s cock, and he was screaming and coming in Sherlock’s mouth for the second time…

When John came back to consciousness he pulled Sherlock up against his body to lie next to him. Sherlock had already put the vibrator on the table and apparently had a drink of water.

They kissed lightly and tenderly for a few minutes, until John mumbled, “Open your mouth.”

“No.”

John opened his eyes. “What? You don’t kiss?”

“I’m kissing you already. If you want more than this you’re going to have participate in another experiment. A long one, if you want me to engage in further unsanitary practices.”

John shook his head. “Nope, I’m sorry, this is too weird.”

“Why? It’s exactly the same. You are prepared to put up with my experiments because you know it makes me happy and gives me satisfaction. You have no desire to design your own experiments but you participate willingly if I tell you what to do. I daresay you would even be prepared to read up a little on the chemistry if you thought it was necessary.”

“Well, yes, probably.” John shrugged. “I can’t think of a reason it would be necessary though.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m just making an analogy. I’ll make it even simpler if you need me to. Mycroft likes chocolate cake, you like sex and I like experiments. You would not give up sex for chocolate cake or experiments, would that be fair to say?”

“Er, no.”

“I would not give up experiments for either sex or chocolate cake and I neither know nor care about Mycroft’s sex life, but I know he doesn’t do experiments. Hmm. That analogy didn’t quite go as I expected.” Sherlock frowned.

“Sex is not like chocolate cake!” John protested. “Sex is an innate human drive, it’s not like a simple taste sensation.”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and chuckled darkly, “There is nothing simple about the way Mycroft relates to chocolate cake.”

This time John rolled his eyes. “Never mind. I don’t care and to be honest I’d rather not know.”

Sherlock just looked at John for a moment. “Even if you don’t understand, can you accept that this is the way it is? I am happy to please you and give you sexual satisfaction and release, because that is what you like and need. I would like for you to continue to participate in my experiments. I see no reason why we should not continue to trade favours in this way.”

John smiled, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Sherlock? Are you home?”

John’s voice echoed up the stairs from the front door. Sherlock was sitting in the living room buried in his Mind Palace, but John’s voice was one of the few sounds that could recall him to the world around him. John’s voice today held an unusual note. A tremor? Yes, and his footsteps on the stairs were uneven. Bad day then, very bad.

Sherlock leapt off the couch and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle and switch it on. Tea. John would want tea. Better not make it, but get everything ready for John to go through the calming ritual of making tea himself. Two mugs, one with a splash of milk the other with sugar, two tea bags. Biscuits? Sherlock had a quick look through the cupboards, but no biscuits were to be found.

Then John’s voice came from the couch, tired and still with that tremble which Sherlock could not recall hearing more than a few times before. “Sherlock? Could you come here for a minute, please?

Oh dear. John was always more polite than Sherlock himself, but this formality was new. It suggested that John was using the framework of social convention to stop himself from falling apart. This was very bad. It was time to bring out the heavy weaponry. Sherlock strode into the living room and picked up his violin. This was the only way to help John back to sleep after one of his PTSD nightmares, so perhaps it would work to settle his mind after his terrible day. Sherlock started playing one of John’s favourite Bach pieces.

“Sherlock, stop. Please, I… I need… Do you have any experiments going?”

Sherlock stopped playing and blinked at John for a moment before putting the pieces together. “I’ll let you owe me an experiment for later this week. What do you need?”

“I don’t really know,” John looked almost on the verge of tears. “Would you just come here and cuddle for a bit?”

“Of course, John. You only needed to ask.” Sherlock put the violin back in its case and slid onto the sofa next to John. He opened his arms and John was instantly in them, half lying across his lap and resting his head against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock closed his arms around John and held him as he wept.

The storm was intense, but brief. Soon John was pulling away and wiping his eyes. “Shall I make us some tea?” he asked, apparently rather self-conscious about his breakdown in front of Sherlock.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherlock wasn’t sure what he would say, but knew that it was the right thing to offer to listen.

“Nah, it wasn’t anything in particular. Just a lot of everything. I feel better now.” John headed into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on again. There followed the usual reassuring sounds of John making tea. Then John reappeared carrying two mugs. He set them down on the coffee table and flopped back onto the couch, this time at his usual distance from Sherlock.

“OK, so how many hours of impersonating the dead do I owe you now?”

Sherlock gave him a stare. “None.”

It was John’s turn to stare. “I thought we had an agreement to trade favours?”

“Well, yes, but you haven’t asked me to do anything sexual yet.”

“Doesn’t cuddling on the couch count?”

“No. That’s not a sexual activity.”

“Wait, I don’t think I understand.” John was wrinkling up his nose in his usual adorable attempt to think through an issue he found difficult. “So you mean you are prepared to cuddle anytime?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Honestly, John, what is so difficult to understand about this? Sex-obsessed as you are, I’m sure even you would not define cuddling on the couch as sexual activity?”

“No, but… I didn’t think you were, well… _into_ that.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I wasn’t. But now… with you… I don’t mind.”

John sat up a bit more and ran his hands through his hair. “I think I’m going to need you to set some ground rules about this… relationship.”

Sherlock nodded.

“ _Is_ this a relationship?”

Sherlock shrugged again, rather uncomfortably. “You have more experience in this area than I do. Would you say it is?”

John huffed out a laugh. “I dunno either. I guess it is if we want it to be. We live together, work together and if we’re going to cuddle on the couch on a regular basis then yes, I suppose I’m going to call it a relationship.”

“That’s the first question answered then. Next?”

“What is it exactly that you don’t like to do?”

“Well, it isn’t that I actively _dislike_ anything – I haven’t tried most of it, never been interested. But I confess I don’t like the idea of anything… wet.” Sherlock was blushing now.

“So, um, mouths or anything requiring lube would be what you consider ‘sexual activity’ but anything with clothes on is not? Is that a fair generalization?”

“I guess so,” Sherlock looked unsure for the first time that John could remember.

“OK, how about we leave it at ‘dry and with clothes on’ and if you don’t like anything,” John shot a sly glance across at Sherlock, “or if you decide you _do_ want something else you just let me know. Other than that we can stick to our original arrangement.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Just one other thing,” John added. “I’m used to a certain amount of tongue kissing.” He grimaced. “Sorry, that sounds awful. What I’m trying to say is that if I open my mouth or try to open yours it’s just a kind of habit. I’m not trying to pressure you at all. Remind me if I’m doing it and I’ll stop.”

There was silence in the flat for a moment as they both digested the implications of the conversation. Finally Sherlock spoke. “So, since you owe me an experiment was there anything else you wanted? I’m prepared to… extend my boundaries of experience.”

John pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “How about we start right where we are, with some more cuddling on the couch and let me think about it. I’m sure something will come to me. Er, so to speak.”

After several minutes of closed mouth kissing and hands roaming over (completely clothed) shoulders and chests Sherlock hummed into John’s mouth. “Mmm, I like this.”

John couldn’t help himself. He pulled back just far enough to glance down and check Sherlock’s trousers. Still flat.

Sherlock sighed. “I didn’t mean _that_. John, if you are waiting for _that_ to happen as a measure of my enjoyment you might as well stop it right now. I like kissing you but I’m not sexually excited by it.” Sherlock paused for a moment, then added, “And I don’t need a visual check to know that you are.”

John blushed. “Is that, um, OK?”

Sherlock kissed him lightly, “Of course it is. I want to please and relax you. Tell me what you need.”

“I think I’d like to lie down in my own bed and maybe you could, um, finish me off with your hand? God, it’s embarrassing to just say it outright like that.”

“I don’t see why you should think so. Being precise in your requests is more likely to produce the desired results.”

“I guess so, it’s just so different from all the other relationships I’ve ever had.”

“The ones that have all ended, you mean?”

“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.”

Sherlock’s shrug said _it’s true_ , but all he said verbally was “So, shall we go upstairs?”

The change of venue caused them both to draw back a little and the atmosphere was awkward as they sat on opposite sides of John’s bed.

John finally broke the silence with “Maybe we could just cuddle and kiss for a bit and see where it goes. I mean, since you liked that before.”

Sherlock lay down on the bed still mostly clothed, having only removed his suit jacket and shoes. He opened his arms and John fitted himself into them, lying half across Sherlock’s chest. John kissed Sherlock lightly across his cheekbones and nose and then down to peck him on the lips. They kissed for a while, and Sherlock could feel John’s interest rising again against his belly.

He decided Lestrade’s advice had been very useful and made a mental note to thank him later. Given John’s reaction to the idea of Lestrade being involved at all, preferably out of John’s hearing. He closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on his sense of touch and tried to ‘go with the flow’. He decided this was a good time to start stroking John’s erection. Outside pants or not? Well, John had asked for a hand job so that was probably implied consent for the removal of pants.

Sherlock slowly reached down and lowered John’s trouser zip, then flicked open the button. John lifted his hips to allow the trousers to slide down enough to give Sherlock better access. Good decision then. He stroked John through his pants and noted the material getting a wet patch. Definitely a good decision. He slid his fingers into the back of John’s briefs to suggest removing them also, and John groaned with agreement.

“Uh, Sherlock? Would you mind taking your shirt off? I feel a bit weird being stripped while you are still practically completely dressed.”

“Of course, John. If that would make you more comfortable.” Sherlock sat up momentarily to remove his shirt while John did the same. John also took the opportunity to remove all the clothing on his lower half, leaving himself completely naked to Sherlock’s gaze. He looked a little self-conscious, but more interested than embarrassed overall.

They lay down together on the bed again, and this time John was definitely interested in picking up the pace. His kisses were more insistent now, with little flicks of his tongue over Sherlock’s lips although true to his word, not with enough force to open Sherlock’s mouth. He took Sherlock’s hand in his and guided it down to his leaking erection, sighing when Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around it.

“Mmm, I like this.” John repeated Sherlock’s words from earlier in the evening. “Kissing and your hands on me. Do you even know how erotic you are?”

Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably. “I’ve had people try to ‘pull’ me, as the saying goes. Both men and women on occasion. I’ve always pretended I didn’t know what they were hinting at.”

“Well, I’m not hinting, I’m telling you outright – you are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever had in my bed. Now I know, I’m not letting you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, John.”

“Promise? Promise me that you won’t go anywhere I can’t go with you?”

“I promise.”

“Ah, yes, touch me just like that…” Sherlock was speeding up his strokes and adding a little twist at the end of each one to focus pressure and pleasure around the frenulum and head of John’s cock. John was making helpless little thrusting motions with his hips, which he didn’t seem to be either fully aware of or fully in control of.

“Kiss me again now.” John gasped.

Sherlock kissed him hard and long, fully on the mouth, while stroking John firmly with one hand and gently cradling his balls with the other. Then he reached back a little further and pressed on the sensitive spot behind John’s balls, and John was groaning into his mouth and coming all over his chest.

Sherlock continued to stroke John gently until he flopped over on his back and groaned again. “Oh God, that was good. I needed that. However many hours I have to spend pretending to be dead, it was worth it.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he looked at the mess on his chest and started to get up. “I’m going for a shower, then how about we go out for dinner?”

John looked up from where he was lying and grinned. “Sexual activity and then dinner? Is this getting to be a habit with us? It isn’t normal, you know.”

Sherlock sniffed. “Normal is a dryer setting John. You don’t really want normal and you know it. You have ten minutes, then we’re going to a new Italian place I want to try. Oh, and you owe me two hours of experiment time.”

“You got it.”

“Yes, all over my chest, which is why I need a shower! Do try to keep up John.” Sherlock grinned and sauntered out of the room in the direction of the bathroom.

John flopped back down on the bed and wondered what he had got himself into. He was in a relationship with an asexual genius who measured the success of sexual encounters in hours of experiment time. He grinned. Ah well, normal was boring anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

“John! JOHN!”

John looked up from his laptop. “I’m right here, you don’t need to shout.”

“Yes, well, I need you.”

“OK, but it can’t take too long. I’m supposed to go to work this afternoon.”

Sherlock smirked. “You can take the experiment to work with you.”

“What? I… No. No, I can’t. I have to be able to work, and I can’t do that with my hands in water or my feet in lemon juice or whatever thing you have in mind next.” John frowned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It’s just an experiment with rope marks, John. I need to tie several different kinds of rope around your body at different points and see how the marks develop over the next few hours. It can be under your clothes, no-one will know.”

“Oh, OK then.” John started rolling up his sleeves and wondering when this became his life.

# # # # # # # # # # # #

John came home from the clinic late and tired. He flopped down on the sofa and sighed.

Sherlock bounced into the room. “You’re home. Excellent. Just let me get my magnifying glass and I’ll document the rope marks as I remove them.”

“Oh good. I’m lucky they have a private bathroom at the clinic. I don’t know what anyone would have said if they saw bits of rope tied all over my arms and legs.”

“Mmm. Hold still.”

John waited patiently as the last pieces of rope came off, and Sherlock jotted notes on one of his endless notepads in his illegible scrawl.

“Right. All done. Do you want your reward now, or this evening after dinner?”

“Later. I’m tired. Can we just ring for Chinese tonight? That black bean and cashew sauce we had last time was good.”

Over dinner the conversation was light and easy between them, with long companionable silences. After dinner John made them both tea and he settled down in front of the telly to watch _Top Gear_ while Sherlock checked his website for new messages.

When the show was over, John stood and stretched. “I’m off to bed, want to join me or should I just save my reward time for another day?”

“No, I’m almost done here. You use the bathroom first and I’ll meet you in your bedroom.”

“So how much reward time am I looking at here anyway? I wore the ropes for eight hours, but it wasn’t really all experiment time.” John rubbed his wrists thoughtfully. “Does two hours of reward time sound fair to you?”

“More than fair, John. Generous. I was prepared to give you all eight hours.” Sherlock fidgeted for a moment, then burst out, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you if you want to even continue this ‘trading’ at all. It seems rather silly if we are in a relationship to track the hours we owe one another. Surely you think I should just do ‘sex things’ with you whenever you want?”

John pursed his lips in thought. “No, I think we should keep this system, on the whole. It works for me to be reminded that this is something you go out of your way to do for me – I don’t ever want to take you for granted. Maybe one day we will move past needing it, but for now it helps me to be as… thoughtful of your needs as you are of mine.”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. “All right. I’ll be up in a moment.”

When Sherlock arrived at John’s bedroom door, John was sitting in the bed leaning against the headboard. “Come here, love. I’ve decided what I’d like tonight. I’m rather tired, so maybe I could just have thirty minutes of _proper_ kissing and bank the rest for another day?”

“Of course, that’s no problem, but are you sure you want to spend your reward time on kissing?”

“Yes, definitely. I’ve been hankering for some proper tongue kissing, open mouthed French style snogging. That’s something you don’t usually do, but if you are open to the idea, I’d like to use some of my time to try it out with you.”

Sherlock made his way over to sit next to John in bed. “I’m prepared to give it a try.” He leaned over and pressed his lips to John’s, kissing him firmly. John slid down the bed until he was lying flat.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” murmured John. “When you’re ready, open your mouth and try using your tongue a little. It will be easier if you control the start. Less overwhelming that way.”

Sherlock parted his lips and tentatively swept the tip of his tongue across John’s slightly separated lips. John opened his mouth a bit more. The next time Sherlock used the point of his tongue to slide a bit further into John’s mouth. John gave a deep groan of desire.

“Is this all right?” Sherlock asked. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Oh God, yes.” John’s erection against Sherlock’s thigh seemed to corroborate this opinion.

Sherlock returned to sweeping his tongue through John’s mouth, experimenting with depth and swirling his tongue around. John was groaning and panting in a way that suggested Sherlock was doing something right. Sherlock was just running out of ideas and wondering what else to do with his tongue when John decided to take over and show him how an expert does it.

John gently pushed Sherlock over onto his back and sprawled himself half over Sherlock’s chest as he continued peppering light kisses all over his face and down his neck. He wandered down with hands and tongue to tease at Sherlock’s nipple, then kissed his way back up to Sherlock’s mouth and plunged inside. They fenced back and forth lightly with the tips of their tongues teasing each other, until John sighed and flopped down on his back next to Sherlock.

“Mmm, that was lovely. Just what I’ve been wanting.”

“Do you want me to do anything about this?” Sherlock ran his hand lightly over John’s hip, indicating his erection without touching.

“No, I’m too tired to enjoy it right now. These late clinic shifts really take it out of me. I’ll make you a fresh one in the morning.” He winked and snuggled down to sleep.

Sherlock turned onto his side and pulled John’s back to rest against his chest and sighed happily. He had never expected this relationship, _any_ relationship, to work out so well. His thoughts wandered idly to other ways he might make John happy. He should probably start by taking the toes out of the freezer before John saw them…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m marking this complete, as that’s all I have to say about asexuality and this particular version of Sherlock and John, but if anyone has a suggestion they would like to see written leave me a comment and I’ll see what I can do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The argument Sherlock has been dreading finally raises its head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised that I do have a couple more things to say about these two. Plus, I really like writing this version of Sherlock, so I thought I'd give him another little run. There will be one more chapter after this, then that really is the end of this rather over-extended one-shot! Candy.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!"

John was yelling as he was bounding up the stairs. His energy level was up, but the slam of the front door was a bad sign. John was either frustrated at the world in general or angry at someone in particular. More likely the second, and probably someone at work although Lestrade was not out of the question. Sherlock could not offhand think of anything he had done to make John angry. Nothing that John would have found out about, at least.

"In the kitchen."

John dumped his work bag, jacket and shoes in the doorway of the living room. Sherlock suppressed an internal sigh. John was angry and wanted sex to relieve his feelings. Shoes off immediately was an unmistakable sign. Sherlock eyed his microscope slide and sighed aloud. Much as he would like to use it as an excuse, this experiment was not in a time-critical phase.

John was unbuttoning his shirt as he approached, his quick, jerky movements making his agitation clear. "I want to cash in some of the hours you owe me. Now."

Sherlock leaned back from the microscope. "All right. What did you have in mind?"

"Come to the bedroom and try to look like you mean it, for God's sake," John snapped.

Sherlock sighed again, and bit his lip. So it was going to be  _that_  way. He wondered sadly if this would be the end of their relationship. It had gone better than he had expected so far, but this always happened. They never wanted him again after  _this_  conversation.

# # # # # # # # # #

John was completely stripped and lying half-propped up against the pillows on his side of the bed by the time Sherlock wandered into their bedroom.

"Took your time about it," John snarled. "I'm not counting this bit, you know."

"That's fine John." Sherlock tried to speak calmly, rationally. John was upset or he would never speak to Sherlock like this, never treat his partner like this. Would he? Sherlock tried to think of something to offer to show his willingness. "Would you like me to set a timer? I'll start it, you won't need to bother with it."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh God, now you want to  _time_  me? It isn't enough that you don't want me, that you only put up with it because of my  _base physical urges?_ Now you want to set a bloody  _timer_  so that you don't have to spend a minute more doing this than absolutely necessary? Is that it?" John was almost shouting now. "Well, forget it! I'll just go have a wank in the shower - you'd probably prefer that anyway. Get to keep your hands clean and not be bothered with me at all! Fuck it. Forget it." John turned his head away, tension radiating from every line of his body. "Go back to your microscope or whatever."

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed, not touching John. This was always the problem. His partners always wanted him to respond to them in ways that he just didn't. They said they understood, but soon or later this insecurity (and it was completely irrational) had wrecked all of his previous relationships. He was damned if it was going to wreck this one. John was his. John was loved. John was...  _Oh!_

"You met an ex of yours today." Sherlock was suddenly sure. "She broke up with you, said horrible things about your performance in bed and now you think that when  _I_  touch you I must be secretly despising you all the time? John, that's not fair." John's shoulders were shaking like he was crying. Spot on then. "You knew going into this relationship that I would never want you like that. It isn't fair of you to get upset with me about it now."

"I know," sniffled John quietly. "But I can't help it. I feel like there is something wrong with us, like we don't match. Why do I want you so much and you never want me at all?"

Sherlock had no answer for that, apart from the obvious. Should he state the obvious? Sometimes it helped. He desperately wanted to help John with this. "It isn't you, you know that. I don't... I have never felt that way about anyone." Sherlock added in a small voice, "I love you, you know that."

John sighed without turning over. "I know. This is my problem, not yours."

"But if you have a problem with our relationship, then it is my problem as well."

John rolled to face him, staring with astonishment. "I think that's the most relationally insightful thing you've ever said."

"Is it?" Sherlock was pleased. How else to make John see that he needed him, for so many things? "I may not want you in sexual ways, but I  _do_  need you John. I need you to remind me to eat, to help me to sleep, to write the blog, to listen to me on cases, to be my conductor of light, to bring the gun, to..." Sherlock suddenly ran out of ideas.

"To buy the milk?" added John, with a wry smile. Even an ironic smile was better than nothing.

"Yes, to buy milk, to help me with my experiments and..." Sherlock had never said this to anyone, but it was true and John deserved to hear it, _needed_  to hear it. "I like it that you are attracted to me."

John rolled his eyes, "Brain the size of a planet and ego to match, is that it?"

Sherlock had had enough. Did John think this was easy for him? "Do you think I like being different from everyone else, in ways that push people away and wreck every relationship I have ever attempted? We've been together four months now and at least half of the time we do 'sex things' we spend longer negotiating what we are and are not going to do than actually having sex!" Sherlock was infuriated that John did not seem to understand that Sherlock was  _trying_. He had invested himself more deeply in this relationship than any other, and to have it fail because of something he couldn't do rather than something he had done - God clearly had a nasty sense of humour.

"John, if you want to break up over this then fine, if I don't deserve you I'll let you go. But don't let it be because of some stupid idea of how people 'should be' or some ridiculous insecurity about sex. I don't want you to go, but I can't keep doing this if you are determined to let sexual activity be the barometer of the health of our relationship!"

John giggled. "That's the best evidence yet that you've never had a serious relationship."

Sherlock frowned. "What is?"

"Thinking that an argument about sex means the end of the relationship."

"Well, it always has in the past." Sherlock shrugged. "Past actions are the best predictor of future actions."

"Yeah, but you're thinking of the past actions of other people you've broken up with, not  _my_  actions. Right?"

"Ye-es," agreed Sherlock slowly. "It is a small data set," he finally admitted.

John sat back against the head of their bed, relaxed now. "Well, let me as the admitted relationship expert, tell you that getting comfortable enough with each other to fight about sex is a good sign. The relationship is moving to the next level. Think about it - with a new lover you're always so anxious to please that you never mention anything you don't like for fear of putting them off. Right?"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I never do anything I don't like. If someone can't cope with me that's their problem."

"Oh yeah, I forgot. You're you." John grinned, "Well, let me tell you that for most of us stupid normal people, a relationship has an awkward 'run in' phase where each person tries to please the other, until finally both parties get tired of dancing around the issue and finally come out with what has been bothering them all along. Then both of you can work it out and move on."

"Doesn't sound like a very efficient way of negotiating satisfactory terms."

"Well, maybe not, but that's how most people do it anyway. And most people don't call talking about what they like in bed as 'negotiating satisfactory terms' either."

"I'll remind you again,  _relationship expert_ , that all these experiences you are drawing on are from failed relationships. I don't see an argument about sexual activities as being a relational step forwards."

"Oh don't you?" John slid over next to where Sherlock was sitting. "Well, the nice part about getting the argument out of the way, is that afterwards it is usual to have make-up sex."

"Really?" Sherlock raised one eyebrow. "Then, by all means let us observe tradition." Sherlock slid one hand down to John's hip in his usual tacit signal that he intended to touch John intimately.

"Don't be shy. We've had the sex argument now, that means you officially have permission to put your hand in my pants whenever you like."

"You mean whenever  _you_  like."

"Yeah, good isn't it?" John smirked up at Sherlock, "And I get you all to myself and don't even have to return the favour. Let me you tell you, this is going all my way! I'm never going to get a sore jaw again from oral sex.  _You_  are though." John nodded meaningfully down at his now very evident erection. "Get to it, lover-boy."

Sherlock tilted his head thoughtfully at John. "You might be right, you know."

"Yeah, I know," replied John immediately.

"You don't even know what I was going say!"

"No, but why ask questions? If you think I might be right about something I'm just going to lie back and enjoy the sensation." John folded his arms under his head and closed his eyes in pretended bliss. Opening his eyes after a moment John added, "Anyway, you're dying to tell me what you've deduced so why don't you go right ahead."

"Now that we've had an argument about sex and we haven't broken up, it seems somehow... I don't know... more comfortable. Easier to talk about it. I wonder why that would be?"

"Oh, Sherlock." John's eyes were bright and slightly wet with some unidentifiable emotion. "You've really never done this before, have you?"

"You keep saying that like it's news," said Sherlock testily.

"No, I'm just realising all over again how brilliant you are and how incredibly lucky I am to have you. Now get down there and suck my dick."

"All right." Sherlock stripped off his shirt (he had learned over the last few months that John liked his shirt off) and slid down the bed until he could take John's erect cock into his mouth. He still used his hand to guide the depth of penetration as he hated feeling like he was going to gag, but John seemed to like it this way. He'd never commented, but now they were talking about these things, maybe he could ask...

"John, do you want me to try to deep throat you?"

"Huh?" John looked down, glassy-eyed and flushed. "Only if you want to. It all feels good to me, and the head is the most sensitive area anyway, if you have your tongue on me there I'm all good, so do as you prefer. I would like to be able to move my hips a bit more though. There's some biological urge to thrust that makes it feel so much better, even when the sensations are otherwise mostly the same."

Hmmm. If Sherlock sat on John's thighs, then he could thrust without choking Sherlock... No, John's legs were too short, he wouldn't be able to bend down...

"How about if you sit up on the edge of the bed and let me sit on the floor between your knees?"

"Okay, how's this?" John swung his legs off the bed and let the motion bring his body upright. Sherlock slid to the floor and found that by sitting on his heels everything was just within easy reach. John's hips were anchored on the bed by the position so he was not going to choke Sherlock, but he was free to move his pelvis around.

"Mmm, perfect," murmured John, as Sherlock found the rhythm and pressure that John liked. "O-oh, keep doing that... right there... Oh my God, you are so hot... wait!"

Sherlock pulled back immediately. John was close to orgasm, but maybe he wanted something else, something special? Sherlock wanted John to feel special.

"Can I... Would you let me..." John panted, blushing.

"John, just spit it out. We've talked about it, no point being embarrassed now."

"Well, would you let me come in your hair?"

Sherlock blinked in surprise. He had never read about anyone having a hair fetish. It sounded sticky and uncomfortable, and the position he would need to be in on the floor would make him feel rather ridiculous. He decided this was as good a time as any to test if John was true to his word.

"No, I don't think I'd like that today."

John shrugged easily. "Your loss. Ejaculate is high in protein, you know. You could have a good laugh next time anyone asked you what products you use in your hair. Well then, how about you swallow for me? There's something so primitive about marking you mine that way."

"Yes, if that's what you would like."

Sherlock slid his mouth back down over John's cock and massaged the head with his tongue. Now that John could move more, Sherlock found that he could just hold his head still and let John control the speed and rhythm. It was easier on his neck and John appeared to like it as well, if the moans and gasps coming from above were any indication. This 'talking' thing in a relationship seemed to be working for both of them. Sherlock had been right all along - he'd always thought being up-front and specific about what he did and did not want was the best way of conducting a relationship.

Sherlock was distracted from his thoughts by John pulling slightly on his hair as his fingers tightened their grip. Realizing how close John was, Sherlock held his breath and rubbed the rough side of his tongue across the glans then firmly tongue-fucked the slit at the top. John clamped his thighs around Sherlock's head and gasped and sobbed through his climax. Sherlock held still and let the warm slightly bitter taste of John's joy fill his mouth in rapid spurts. Then, deciding he might as well make a show of it, Sherlock leaned back so that he could look up into John's flushed and panting face. He slowly licked his lips, letting a bit of tongue show before very deliberately and obviously swallowing.

John laughed with delight. "You are so hot and sexy. Where did you learn that move? I hope you haven't been getting tips from watching porn on the internet."

"No, I just thought you would like it. You said you wanted me to swallow, I thought you might like to see it. Call it an experiment of mine."

"Oh yeah, let's experiment. I'm all in favour of experiments at the moment."

"Excellent," said Sherlock climbing to his feet and pulling his shirt back on. "Stay right here, I've got something you can help me with. You did say you wanted to reciprocate, right?"

The pillow thrown by John hit the frame of the bedroom door as Sherlock ducked away, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been quiet for so long. My real life has been complicated including in particular the final illness and death of my father. I wanted to come back to an old piece and write something easy and fun before resuming my long-fic "Her Majesty's Secret Service" although that is at the top of my to-do list! I have one other little warm up piece to post, then I'll get back to my other favourite version of John and Sherlock! (Omega!John and Alpha!Sherlock, if you haven't read it pop over there now and by the time you finish I should be ready to post the last 3 chapters!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has an idea for an experiment, Sherlock has an actual experiment. These two things do not mesh as well as either of them might have hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have been asking if Sherlock could "come around" to the idea of enjoying sex with John. The answer is no. That is not how asexuality works in this fic (and in real life, to the best of my knowledge). Sherlock is really, truly asexual all the time, for the whole fic. It isn't a matter of finding "the right one" or being "converted". It is part of who he is. Don't worry that this means it will be all angst though! I'm a firm believer in happy endings and John and Sherlock will work out their romantic relationship to their mutual satisfaction nonetheless!

"Sherlock! Sherlock!"

John's voice echoed up from the front door, his excitement evident in his voice and the way he leapt up the stairs two at a time.

Sherlock looked down the microscope at his cultures one last time. They needed to either sit in the fridge for two hours or on the bench for half an hour before they would be ready for assessment. He raised his head to look at John, and blinked.

John was grinning, almost glowing. He seemed on the verge of delighted laughter. What could please and excite John so much, that did not involve Sherlock in any way?

"I've been recommended for a surgical position at St Bart's!" John bounced on his heels, unable to stand still. "It's only an assistant position, and the pay is less than I make working for Sarah, but I finally have my hand on the lowest rung of the tallest ladder! If this works out, in a year or two I could start on the surgical training program. I'd go in sideways rather than have to compete with all the new young things graduating from university. Ah!" John's grin got even wider, "This is what I've always wanted, what I thought my shoulder injury took away from me! Even if it never goes further than surgical assisting one day per week, it's a break from the bloody coughs and colds in the office that bore me to tears."

"Well done, John." Sherlock tried to be happy for John, tried not to think of how this would affect their Work together. Would John rather play at surgery than do the Work with Sherlock? Probably not. He admitted this was only surgical assisting, not actually performing surgery. He would still come when Sherlock needed him.

John had been talking, more excited gushing about the job, no need to listen for details. Then John paused, clearly expecting Sherlock to say something. The last sounds echoing in his auditory memory suggested a question. "Celebrate? Oh, er, certainly we should. What would you like to do?"

John winked and started peeling out of his work jacket and shirt. Oh, so  _that_  kind of "celebrate". Under the circumstances Sherlock felt it was appropriate to offer sex. Over the thirteen months they had been together Sherlock had gained a fair sample of how John liked to "do sex". One important factor to maximize John's enjoyment was that Sherlock should sometimes initiate sexual activities. After a broad hint, usually. That situation seemed applicable currently.

Sherlock took a mental note of the time and set an internal alert for 25 minutes, when the cultures would need to either be assessed or put in the freezer to preserve their current state of development. Then he started stripping off his own shirt. It was not strictly necessary, but John usually liked to look at him and the flat was warm enough today that it was comfortable enough to accommodate that preference.

"Come over here, sexy," said John, "I've read about something new I'd like to try."

"Very well. What does it involve?"

"It's called inter-crural sex."

" _Inter_. Between.  _Crura_. Legs. You want to sit between my legs? All right, if that's what you want."

"Er, no." John turned slightly pink, "I want you to take your trousers off and, um" he glanced around the room uncertainly. "Lean on the back of the chair, I think. Yeah, that should work. Then I, um, stand behind you and, er…" John broke off, flushing even more. "Why don't we just try it and see how it goes?"

John rushed off to the bathroom, presumably for lube, while Sherlock slowly removed his trousers. He left his pants on. This was shaping up to be a rather uncomfortable proceeding, but Sherlock was determined to try it just this once, for John.

John came back into the living room with lube in his hand. He quickly shucked off his trousers and pants. "Maybe if you stand there," he directed Sherlock to stand behind the chair with his hands on top of the chair back. "Lean forwards a bit, with your feet a little closer together. Yeah, that looks good."

It did not feel good at all, but Sherlock closed his eyes and remembered that he was doing this for John, his John, who had let him almost dislocate his thumb in the "handcuff escape" experiment.

Sherlock gasped involuntarily at the touch of cold, wet gel on his inner thighs. He suppressed a shudder. It was runny and already starting to ooze down the inside of his leg. Disgusting sensation. He tried to distract himself by thinking how many other words in the English language could be used to describe it. Dribble. Seep. Trickle. Leak. Bleed. Weep. This was not helping. Would it be better in German?  _Schlamm. Versickern._ No.

John's hands were warm on his hips, and he could feel John eagerly thrusting between his thighs. John seemed to be enjoying it, if he could hold on just a few more minutes… Then John would come and spurt even more bodily fluids on him.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and concentrated on his hands squeezing the chair back. He couldn't even  _see_  John in this position. There was none of the closeness, the intimacy he sometimes felt in pleasing John sexually. John was thrusting and panting behind him - he felt out of control in a strangely passive way. It was like John was just using his body. Was it always like this for John? Friction, movement and then sexual release? Would it be the same with anyone, male or female? Any willing recipient, all faceless, all interchangeable…

John was grunting now with each thrust, and Sherlock was suddenly overwhelmed by the grotesque bestiality of it all. "John… I… I don't like this," he managed to stammer. "I want to stop." He managed to avoid shouting it.

"Just half… a minute…" gasped John, "Nearly there…  _Ow!_ _"_

Sherlock could not stand the feral, brutish rutting any more. He shoved John away, catching his bad shoulder with an elbow in his hurry, and bolted for the bathroom. He turned on the shower full force and stood under the cold spray, shivering through the half minute it took until the water started to warm. He scrubbed at the slimy residue on his thighs, until the normal sensation of soap on clean skin returned. He sighed with relief, and decided to shampoo his hair as well. Well, that was one experiment they would not be repeating. Feeling much calmer and in control again, Sherlock towel dried his hair and stepped out of the shower.

Hearing the water stop, John slammed into the bathroom. He had put pyjama pants on, and his erection had either subsided or been dealt with by John himself. Fortunately. Sherlock did not think he could face another round of doing sex with John at the present moment. Besides, his cultures needed to be taken down in ten more minutes.

"Sherlock, what the hell was that? You waited until the last possible second before I was about to finish, then you pound me in the bad shoulder and fuck off to have a  _shower_?" John was flushed in the face again, but not in a good way. "I'm going to be sore for a week now after a wrench like that. Are you trying to jeopardize my new surgical career? Is that what this is about? You want me to be at your beck and call all the time, and not have a life of my own?"

"I… no." Had John really not noticed how distressed he had been? "It just didn't feel right. I didn't like it."

John frowned. "I know that. That's why I pay you in experiment time, isn't it?"

Sherlock was too unsettled to go through it all again. "There are some things I actively dislike. If you want to do that again, I suggest you hire a prostitute."

"I don't want a hooker. I have you."

There was a dreadful silence in the bathroom as John's last words ricocheted off the tiles and slapped Sherlock in the face.

_Hooker. You._

Was that really how John thought of him, of what they did together? Payment for services rendered? Remembering at the last minute that he could no longer retreat to their shared bedroom, Sherlock gathered the towel and the last shreds of his dignity around himself and stalked upstairs to the evidence room.

# # # # # # # # # #

Sherlock curled up in the armchair he had installed in the repurposed upstairs bedroom. He tucked his feet under himself and stared at the evidence wall without seeing it. This was why he had not attempted a relationship for years. It always ended with accusations and wounds. Perhaps he should tell Mycroft what John had said? He at least would appreciate the irony of Sherlock being compared with a prostitute.

"Tea?"

Sherlock jerked his gaze from the wall to the doorway. John was standing there with two mugs of tea and a downcast expression. Sherlock held out his hand for the tea without speaking. John had said the last awful words between them, John could start this conversation by apologising.

John sighed and took a sip of his tea before speaking. "I don't know exactly what went wrong down there, but I think you owe me an apology."

_What?_

John sighed again, "I know you don't do that, but really, what am I supposed to think? You were not happy about my new job but you agreed to humour me. You agreed to what I asked for and then thumped me and ran off. I know over the last few months we've cut back on the talking and I thought we had reached an understanding but…" he shrugged.

"And then you accused me of being the same as a prostitute." Sherlock didn't even try to keep the hurt and resentment out of his tone.

A genuine expression of shock crossed John's face. "No, I didn't. I said I do  _not_  want a hooker. That was not a comparison with our… arrangement. We're in a relationship. I don't care for or want faceless, anonymous, purely physical sex."

Sherlock felt his sustaining self-righteous anger slipping away. In its place was uncertainty and vulnerability. His instinct was to reach out for reassurance, for John. "You didn't want me facing away so that you could pretend you were with a woman?"

"What? No! How could you even think that?" John sank down to the floor to sit beside Sherlock's chair. He rested his temple against Sherlock's knees. "It was just something I read about and thought we might try it. If you didn't want to, you should have said so."

Sherlock shrugged.

"I know you don't like admitting you can't, or don't want to, do anything. But I'd really rather know beforehand than have you grit your teeth and hang on until you freak out on me."

"I'm sorry about your shoulder. I didn't mean to do that. I thought…"

"What did you think?"

Sherlock's voice was low, "I thought you knew how I felt but didn't care."

John sighed and rubbed his head against Sherlock's knee, turning to press a light kiss against his leg. "Oh love, I always care about how you feel. I never want to push you beyond what you are comfortable with. We'll just write this off as an experiment gone bad and…"

Sherlock leapt to his feet and raced down the stairs, abandoning his towel on the seat of the armchair.

"Sherlock?"

# # # # # # # # # #

Sherlock gazed down the microscope lens at his ruined experiment. The cultures had been left for far too long at room temperature and the overgrowth had obscured any result. He would have to bin the whole thing and start again.

"Sherlock? You're standing naked in the kitchen staring down your microscope and groaning. It's quite a nice view but I'm concerned about your mental health."

"I'm a sociopath John. My mental health, or lack thereof, has been extensively documented. Mycroft can get you a copy of the psychiatrist's reports if you want to read them yourself."

"Bullshit."

Sherlock abandoned the defunct experiment and turned to look at John, who hurriedly raised his gaze to Sherlock's face.

John shrugged unrepentantly. "Complete crap, I mean it. Psychiatry is not an exact science by any means. The so-called 'objective observer' doesn't exist, and doctors are expected to jump to a conclusion and produce a report after meeting a patient for, what four to six hours, tops? I'll bet you could fool anyone into giving you any diagnosis you wanted!" John's snort was equal parts affection and rueful admiration. "You've fooled a lot of people along the way, I'm sure. But I live with you, I'm in a relationship with you, and I love you. You don't fool me as much as you think, and I know that you love me too."

Sherlock straightened up and prepared to deny it. John's raised hand forestalled him. "Don't. You don't need to pull that mask on with me.  _Please_  don't. You can use it to keep the rest of the world at a distance. Hell, I'll even back you up if you want me to! But here, between us, you don't need to do that. I love you and I'll prove it any way you want. I'll give up sex completely. I'll marry you. I'll wash those disgusting petrie dishes - whatever you want."

Sherlock's gaze was caught by the earnest sincerity in John's face. "Do you really mean that?"

"Sure. I guess we have some washing up liquid around here somewhere…"

"John! Not that. You said you would…"

"Marry you? Oh God, yes. In a heartbeat, if you wanted to. I'm not getting down on one knee on this floor, but yeah, I meant it."

Sherlock closed his eyes as the tide of emotions rose up inside him and threatened to overwhelm him. Everything he'd thought he could never have, would never  _want_  to have, had been warned against wanting. "Ask me," he breathed, "Make it real."

"Sherlock Holmes, my life, my love and my  _lover_ , you are everything I could ever want, could ever wish for in a life partner. Will you marry me? Stand up in front of God and everyone and take my hand and my ring and my kiss and become my husband? Will you make me the happiest, luckiest man in London?"

Sherlock felt the devastating storm of emotions almost choke him, and decided to throw the window open and tell John everything he had always kept hidden. "You said 'brilliant' when everyone else always said 'piss off'. I could never forget that, never let that go. Never let  _you_  go. I thought you would discover how shallow I am, how little there is to me apart from brain, that I couldn't do anything for you sexually, that I'm emotionally distant and chronically untidy and inconsiderate. That you would eventually find out that I'm decorative but not worth the trouble, and leave me. The fact that you know all those things about me and choose to stay with me, continue to want me - you are a daily miracle. If you want to marry me, even knowing all of that, you can have me and I'll count myself honoured."

John gathered Sherlock into his arms and kissed him tenderly for a few minutes before pulling away again. 

"Now love, it is true that you are everything I ever wished for, but you are a fair bit more besides. So how about you put on some clothes and we wash up this experiment together? Then you can start an exciting new experiment while I start a boring old cup of tea and we can both celebrate in ways that we each like?"

"You don't want to have sex now?"

John smiled comfortably. "We have the rest of our lives for that, love. Let's just enjoy the romantic atmosphere."

"Before it fills with fungal spores?"

"Sherlock!"


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Married life for Sherlock and John as they finally reach a balancing point. Because the more things change, the more they stay the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several years later...

“John?”

“Mmmph.”

“John, are you awake?”

“‘Mnot.”

“Yes, you are. John, I have something special for you. For your birthday.”

John opened one eye and peered at him suspiciously. “What kind of special? Does it involve body parts?”

“Only yours and mine.” Sherlock reached around John’s back and pulled so that he rolled towards Sherlock, putting their bodies flush against one another.

“Mmmm,” John murmured a happy noise. “That kind of special. I would have thought you’d be worn out after celebrating our wedding anniversary.”

“That was a month ago.”

“Yes, I know. I thought after the first few anniversaries the novelty would wear off, but I still like celebrating the whole week of the honeymoon as well.”

“Focus please, John. Birthday. Something special?”

“Oh yes. Umm, activity or object?”

“Object.”

“External or internal use?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, that is against the rules. That is not a yes-or-no question.”

“All right, all right. Sheesh, you’d think on my birthday you could cut me some slack on the deduction stuff!”

“I could.”

“But you’re not going to?”

“No.”

“Right, then. Is this object for internal use?”

“No.”

“Is it clothing of some kind?”

Sherlock hesitated before finally answering “Yes.”

John quirked one eyebrow. “Only clothing in the broadest sense then? Interesting. Is it a costume?”

“No.”

“Jewelry?”

“No.”

“Watch?”

“No, you already have a very nice one of those.”

“Yeah, but I’m running out of ideas.”

“Clothing John, think about clothing. Bear in mind that it might not be for you to wear, yourself.”

“Oh, really? Is it something for you to wear for me?”

“Yes.”

John licked his lips, his eyes opening wide with interest and hope. This deduction was turning out to be one of his favourite kinds. “Is it made of lace?”

“Yes.”

“Black lace?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm,” John rolled flat on his back again, closing his eyes.

“John? Aren’t you going to keep deducing?”

“Nope. I’m just going to lie here for a moment and imagine the possibilities. You and black lace…” suddenly John’s eyes popped open. “But how many hours do I have left? Our anniversary celebrations last month must have used up most of my credit.” John wrinkled up his nose as he tried to do mental arithmetic with a naked Sherlock in his bed in front of him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You have plenty.”

John frowned. Imprecision was unusual in his husband. “How many hours do you owe me right now? I remember I was in front by quite a lot after that bloody ship’s rope experiment - you gave me double time to make up for the friction burns, you remember. They took days to heal.”

“Yes, John, I remember. I told you not to move around so much. The thickness of those ropes and the coarseness of the fibres…” Sherlock broke off at John’s gesture of impatience. “You have, um… three hundred and six point five hours. There, that’s plenty. Get back to deducing your present so I can show it to you.” 

Sherlock tried to distract John with butterfly kisses all over his face.

“Three six five? That sounds like a familiar number. Did you just pull it out of the air?”

Sherlock’s eyes opened widely in his best look of injured innocence. “No, why would you think that?”

“That look. You’re doing that look. That’s it, I’m going to find the whiteboard. I know it’s around here somewhere.”

“It’s up in the evidence room. But it doesn’t have your tally marks on it any more.”

“What?! Why not?”

“We used the white board to reconstruct the drawings in ‘The Case of the Dancing Men’, remember? The case was over six months ago but you only wrote it up on your blog last month so I hope even in your cluttered little mind you should be able to find it.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Well, at the time I figured you would keep mental track of the hours you owe me in that enormous Mind Palace of yours and I could just ask you if I wanted to know.”

“Well, yes, ordinarily you could.”

John raised one eyebrow, “Ordinarily? Are you telling me you _lost_ something in your Mind Palace?”

“Nooo, not exactly.” Sherlock looked away to one side, avoiding John’s gaze. He sighed, then admitted, “The Mind Palace doesn’t automatically update itself, it only preserves information. If I don’t update something then it just keeps whatever I stored there last. I haven’t updated that file for… Anyway, I thought _you_ would be keeping track! They are _your_ hours, after all.”

John’s look of surprise dissolved into giggles as he flopped over on his back, breaking into open laughter. “Well, I guess that answers the question of when we can stop counting the hours we owe each other then! If neither of us has been bothering to keep track, then I guess we don’t need it.”

Sherlock shrugged his agreement. “Shall I go get your birthday present then?”

John slapped his rump as Sherlock turned, “You can wear the garter belt and stockings on your way back, you gorgeous thing. I want to admire you in them while I have a nice slow wank. That’s my idea of a birthday present!”

Sherlock sniffed as he left the room, feigning disinterest in the thought.

“I heard that!” John called out, “Don’t bother to pretend you don’t love it, you vain man. I’ll give you two minutes to get your outfit on and get back here or else I’ll make sure to splash a drop on you when I come!” The warm laugh that followed this threat made it clear that John was teasing. Nevertheless, Sherlock hurried to get dressed up and get back to his love, his lover, his husband and perfect partner.

He murmured to himself in wonder, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“I’m the improbable one, then,” answered John, “Because you are the impossible one in this marriage!”

“Very improbable, John. But you’re _my_ improbable one. I could never have deduced your existence.”

“You’re lucky I love you just as you are, you impossible man.”

“Just as I am? In black lace garters and stockings and with an extra hand defrosting in the bathtub?”

"Sherlock!"

 

**The End**


End file.
